


We Should Carve Pumpkins

by roseluu (rowanscrown)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-07 23:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12242616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanscrown/pseuds/roseluu
Summary: Prucan week 2017.Day one - beginnings / anticipation: Gilbert wonders if he should take the chance.





	1. Chances

There are parts about this Gilbert is unsure about, and there are parts about this Gilbert is _very_ unsure about.

“Maybe,” he says, “I can just wait until tomorrow?”

“Good God, Prussia. What the hell happened to the I’m-going-to-sweep-him-off-his-feet attitude? Don’t be a pussy.”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ call me a pussy.”

“Well, you sound like one. _You're_ the one who asked _me_ to help you out.”

“Who else would I ask? You’re his brother.”

“Oh, I don’t know – Francid? That guy’s got it in the bag. Too much in the bag, actually.”

“Are you stupid? That’d be like asking his dad for advice!”

“Well, you – shh, he’s looking!”

Gilbert resists the urge to claw his eyes out and quickly turns away. Everything is coming to him now. How idiotic the situation really is. In the _conference room_ , where he’s _not_ supposed to be, with _people_ around them. And for _God's_ sake, does Matthew even _like_ flowers?

His pride wells up into his throat. Or, maybe he’s just going to vomit.

“Man, you _are_ a pussy,” Alfred whispers.

Gilbert smacks the back of Alfred’s head with a clammy hand and holds the bouquet of white trilliums to his chest. The fact he’s holding flowers makes him want to vomit even more. Is this what he’s meant to become? Some sap who gets nervous talking to a country hardly anyone knows exists? He’s surprised his uniform hasn’t melted off from the sweat sticking to his skin, or his rib cage hasn’t split in half from his heart not shutting _up_.

Matthew is clearly looking their way, Gilbert can feel it. He’s probably got that confused, innocent expression with his brows stitched together, eyes wide and unknowing.

“It’s the end of the meeting, just go do it,” Alfred insists. The excitement leaves quickly, though, and his lip curls for a moment as he mutters, “I can’t believe I’m letting this happen.”

“He probably doesn’t like albinos,” Gilbert says, high and edged, swinging an arm around Alfred’s shoulders. “Well, that’s his loss. Franny would kill me anyway – ”

“Oh, shut up already. Go do it.”

Gilbert unwinds his arm. Considers dropping the flowers and sprinting.

He asks slowly, “You really think I have a chance?”

Alfred gives him a long look. It lasts too long, and he only says, “Maybe.”

Well, maybe isn’t enough. Gilbert wipes his palms on his jacket. Maybe is something, though.

He turns on his heel, meets Matthew’s eyes for a moment and feels any confidence he’s prided himself for since his early years disappear. But, still, the eyes calm his heart, and he says, “Here goes nothing.”


	2. Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew is quiet, and he always has the softest feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day two - Tempt/Touch

Uncle Fritz has a list of chores – make your bed, rinse your dishes, make sure Ludwig is in bed by eight, do _not_ smother him with his pillows, and feed the birds out back.

Gilbert makes sure he does his daily chores ( _most_ of them) quickly. He’s learned having a tantrum only takes away from street hockey and the latest video game he managed to wrangle out of Antonio. If he doesn’t put Ludwig to bed, Ludwig always finds that damn stick to curl up with and nearly poke his eye out. And, if he doesn’t feed the birds, the flower beds will be in a disarray of ripped petals and shredded stems the next day. This chore is the most important and the most fun to Gilbert.

Today the birds are quiet. Many come around this part of the forest: Blue jays, hummingbirds during the spring, crows, vultures, and the occasional poppy-red cardinal. Uncle’s manor is large, and the forest surrounds it in a lonely eighty acres. It takes Gilbert nearly _years_ to walk into town every morning to catch the bus.

But, he doesn’t mind it too much. He likes the smell of dirt and rolling in the mud after a night of sticky rain. Climbing trees is his specialty. He even won a race to the top of the tallest tree at his school two years ago on his ninth birthday. It took him forever to eat the winning stash of chocolate.

Gilbert takes his time sprinkling sunflower seeds at the edge of the forest, eagerly sauntering between the canopies of thick branches and wildflowers. He’s waited all day at school for this moment. It’s the moment he looks forward to every morning.

“Come out already!” he calls.

His voice is sucked into the forest. Dusk trickles rays of fiery orange hues throughout the dirt, and Gilbert squints. A branch creaks. A few stray twigs plop to the ground behind him. He whirls around.

“That’s not funny,” he says.

He finds it. The spot cleared for a pale, sun-bleached rock reaching well above Gilbert’s shoulders. He’s too short, so he huffs, “C’mon!”

Fingertips brush his spine, then his knees knock into the rock as a warmth presses to his back. He steadies himself as the fingers dig into his skin then fist the black cloth of his t-shirt.

“It’s too bright,” Matthew whispers.

His quick breath warms between his shoulder blades. Gilbert tries to turn around, but Matthew doesn’t budge.

“Of course it’s too bright. I can’t make my entrance in pitch black. You won’t be able to see me.” Gilbert laughs. “Now lift me up!”

A whirlwind of air spirals over Gilbert’s face, fluttering his hair as his arms are gripped and he’s pulled off the ground. He wiggles his feet towards the rock until he’s set down, and Matthew glides in front of him, landing in a crouch, spindly, pale limbs and all.

“You shouldn’t come so early,” Matthew says softly, so soft Gilbert strains to hear. He tucks his face between his knees, streaked dark brown with dirt. “Someone could see.”

“Eh, that doesn’t matter.” Gilbert leans back and stretches his legs out, kicking his shoes off. One nearly cartwheels towards off the rock, but Matthew snags the lace. “Besides, Uncle’s grouchy today. ‘Said I can’t go into town to play with Franny and ‘Toni. I can’t stay long, either. He’ll come looking for me, the asshole.”

Matthew’s head perks. “Ass-hole?”

“Means he’s being mean.”

“Ah.”

“And, besides, he doesn’t even have a reason.” Gilbert throws a hand up towards the sky.

“Maybe your brother found the stick again?”

“ _Nein_ , I checked!”

“Oh,” Matthew breathes.

They lapse into silence. A squirrel scurries below them, and Matthew begins his weird cooing noise. Sometimes Gilbert forgets Matthew’s a bit weird. Then again, most people would find Gilbert weird for leaving the house to hang out with a half-naked bird-boy that lives in…the trees? The ground? Gilbert hadn’t thought to ask.

He sniffs once. “Where’s your brother?”

Matthew’s eyes shy to the ground, and he scrapes the dirt coating his feet with a long, sharpened nail. He always does this. It used to bother Gilbert, but he knows it’s his way of talking. He can barely raise his voice to a yelling level unless he's emitting a screeching noise. Gilbert had been unfortunate enough to witness.

“He’s with the flock,” Matthew says. “They’re still not awake yet. Too bright.”

“I can already see the moon,” Gilbert says without thinking. The sky has softened into a barely-seen baby pink. He continues with, “Not early birds?”

Matthew’s thin lips twitch into a smile, and he quickly bows further between his knees. But, Gilbert has already seen it and his chest has swelled. “Ah, you smiled!”

“I smile a lot,” Matthew whispers.

“No, you don’t,” Gilbert says. “When you smile, it’s because I made a good joke. Admit it, I’m hilarious.”

Matthew admits it quietly. The edges of his wings twitch.

“Can I touch them again?” Gilbert asks, because he’s feeling brave tonight.

Matthew, this time, picks at the bits of twig wrung in his golden hair like frayed wire. His hair is always wild and frizzed at the edges, puffed slightly from brushing his fingers through it. Gilbert suspects it’d be shiny if he'd wash it with shampoo and combed it thoroughly. Despite that, it’d always been fluffy and nice, and Gilbert had always wanted to touch it.

“You can,” Matthew says. He spins on his balls of his feet and kneels, the brunt of his wings nearly slapping Gilbert in the face. Gilbert has always been fascinated with them. They’re large and an egg-shell white melting into a pale grey, always littered with thick tufts of feathers that smell like dirt and moss.

Gilbert touches them gently, cautiously, even though Matthew has always told him it wouldn’t hurt. It was like brushing someone’s hair. It feels nice at the base of his shoulders, but uncomfortable if pulled too hard.

The feathers are so soft. The glide of Gilbert’s palm is barely a touch, so it tickles, and Matthew joins in with his giggling. Matthew lays them limp, fanning them out around Gilbert’s shins in a halo, and Gilbert pets and drags and strokes until Matthew’s breathing evens out and his picking stops as the moonlight grins down through the trees.

Still, like the last six months he’s been granted to touch, Gilbert’s hands stray, trailing away from the velvet feathers to the base of the wings. He snakes around the thick bone to the trail of short, ribbed feathers protruding from his skin, to the dewiness of Matthew’s back. He has smooth skin that often grows oily around his knobby spine, and the apex glares out of the nape of his neck like a stray piano key, and his hair _is_ soft and frizzy over Gilbert’s fingers.

“You have really pretty hair,” is the only thing Gilbert can think to say, and Matthew’s shoulders shake slightly in hushed laughter.

Soon enough, there’s a loud, rattling caw, and Gilbert pulls away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mattie,” Gilbert calls quietly as Matthew pushes him down the rock.

Matthew’s face is obscured, but the moon outlines his silhouette. Gilbert almost mistakes him for a crow. “Bye, Gil.”

He takes off, and Gilbert runs home, smiling.


	3. Bear it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert and Kumajirou don't quite get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day Three - Surprises

Gilbert likes a lot of things. He likes Matthew; he likes Gilbird; he likes winning; he likes pistachio ice cream; and, he likes – no, _loves_ – cute things, no matter how much he denies it.

In turn, he dislikes a lot of things. Running out of beer; Ludwig is being extra grouchy, bringing up his past defeats; lines; people who walk too slow. Yet he can’t ever pinpoint a moment when he’s actually _hated_ something.

But, now, he’s sure on the brink of it. Because of polar bears.

 _A_ polar bear. Gilbert doesn’t like him: Kumajirou.

“You’re rude and annoying and act like you fucking own the place,” Gilbert hisses.

Kumajirou blinks up at him. Slowly. Then paddles away, snorting once. From the other room, Matthew mutters something about self-projecting.

Kumajirou doesn’t talk much unless he wants something. And, when he wants something, it usually has to do with Matthew. And, because he’s too clingy and too persistent, Matthew is dragged into anything he wants. If Kumajirou wants fish, he gets fish. No exceptions. If he wants to take a nap, the red carpet is practically laid out for him. If he wants Matthew’s attention, he receives all eyes. It doesn’t matter he can’t remember Matthew’s name.

It’s aggravating, and Gilbert _hates_ it.

And, Kumajirou knows it. He _knows_ it, and Gilbert feels as if that cap at the tip of the bottle is going to blow his brains out from pure frustration, pure want to _fight_.

But, he can’t. Because of Matthew. God forbid he ever touch Kumajirou.

“You can _hurt_ him, Gil. He’s not a _person_.”

“Well, he acts like one! One that’s obviously trying to get me in trouble!”

Matthew sighs, “He’s not trying to get you in trouble.”

“Yeah, he is! Look at his face!”

Kumajirou peers through Matthew’s arms with wide black eyes. Then he buries his nose into Matthew’s sweater.

“Gil, you’re scaring him.”

“No, I’m – he’s a _polar bear_!” Some part of him would be happy if he’d managed to scare Kumajirou, because that means he’d won a miniscule part of this. His pride is already shredded to pieces from the damn bear getting more attention than him, and now he's making Matthew angry. “He’s doing it on purpose! You really think _I_ would lie about that?”

Matthew’s winces, and he wears an expression of one that clearly says _yes, yes I do_.

“Gil, I’m sorry. I know you aren’t fond of him, but it would make me happy if you at least tried to get along. Please?”

Gilbert silently fumes. He’s about to storm off before Matthew whispers a tiny _eh?_ And his body melts like a whipped puddle.

“Fine.”

Kumajirou smiles and demands cod.

Gilbert tries, he really does.

Matthew leaves one day for groceries, and he _tries_.

“Just eat it out of my hand already. That’s what you animals do, yes?” He shoves the slimy piece of raw fish further towards Kumajirou’s nose.

“Shut up. You’re annoying,” Kumajirou says.

Gilbert growls, “Just eat it, you _dummkopf_! Matt's going to kill me at this point!”

Kumajirou huffs and rolls to his other side, leaving an already thick carpet of hair covering the couch.

“Why do you hate me?” Gilbert asks.

“It’s not hard to hate you.”

Gilbert slaps the fleshy meat against Kumajirou’s back. “Well, you’re the only one! Now, you little shit, at least try to pretend you like me. Matt said it’ll make him happy, so just fucking do it!”

Kumajirou emits a snore.

Gilbert is drunk and waddling home when Kumajirou decides to make an entrance.

“This is why,” he says.

“What – ” Gilbert makes an effort to restrain himself from laughing up a storm. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Kumajirou scuffs a paw into the ground, eyes digging a hole Gilbert is sure he’s about to fall into. “He’s been waiting all night. You didn’t tell him you were leaving.”

The alcohol is slowly wearing off, and so is the high of life - the high of life that always crashes down at some point. “What does it matter to you?” He clumsily locks the door behind him, groping the pale wall for the light switch. “I was with ‘Toni and Francis. Their both havin’ trouble with their little…little…what are they again?”

“Lovers.”

“Yeah, lovers!”

“Yours is asleep upstairs. Don’t bother coming up.”

Kumajirou begins meandering upstairs, and Gilbert unceremoniously tries holding all his weight steady on the couch’s armrest. “You!” he sneers. “You – Don’t tell me about me! Just because you’re here doesn’t mean I have to listen to you!”

They have faults, yes, and Gilbert can now see why Kumajirou purposefully gets him in deep, deep trouble. A fatal flaw Gilbert has – and no one should know he knows – is that maybe he takes to hating far too quick.

“Just this once,” Gilbert says, and he strains and strains to not rip Kumajirou’s pearly white hair out. “Just this once don’t say anything, and I won’t say anything.”

“Fuck up more,” Kumajirou says, “I dare you.”

He dislikes this bear. They’re too alike.

Matthew comes home from a three-day trip at Alfred’s to he and Kumajirou making dinner. Kumajirou has made sure his paws were clean so he’s able to pad around on the kitchen counters and assist in Gilbert’s cooking. His pancakes will never, ever, be as good as Matthew’s, but he tries anyway.

“This is…” Matthew nearly drops his bag. “This is…a nice surprise. Very nice.”

Kumajirou asks Matthew who he is and licks his cheek. Gilbert avoids that cheek and goes for the other. Kumajirou makes a scene by sneezing noisily onto Gilbert’s hand.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

“I’m glad you two are finally getting along,” Matthew says, a happy sigh. His face delves into something relieved and something more undeniably adorable than Gilbert wants to admit. “I’m so glad. I’m honestly surprised. I thought you both would never see eye-to-eye.”

Kumajirou’s lips pull back to his teeth when Matthew turns around. It’s so frightening Gilbird buries deeper into Gilbert’s hair.

Gilbert laughs loudly, grins, and decides it’s worth it.


	4. Forgive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew is sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day Four - Mistakes

Gilbert is loud. He is loud and angry. When he panics, he grows louder, to make sure it’s known he’s angry. And when he grows louder, people grow more tired of it.

Gilbert does not do this around Matthew.

Gilbert slumps, and mutters, and picks at the holes stretching larger on the frayed stitches of his pants. Every pair has been worn in so much they are nearly falling apart. He is not angry when he is angry. He’s sad. And, Gilbert doesn’t grow sad very often.

Matthew sits softly on the couch. Gilbert doesn’t move from his spot, back to him, peering at the window with his fingers picking furiously at the knee of his sweatpants.

“I’m sorry,” Matthew says, and he is suddenly very aware of how small his voice really is.

Gilbert doesn’t say anything, picks harder.

“I’m sorry,” Matthew says again. His hands wring together.

Gilbert tilts his head the slightest bit, and his knee bounces for a few moments before stopping. When he’s accepting, he’s relieved, and he calms. He sighs, “I forgive you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter: Matthew is quiet, and he always has the softest feathers.


End file.
